Petrichor
by Cosseting-the-Cold
Summary: It's a good thing Kiku excels in his English class, because he's suddenly sent away from his abandoning, ignorant family to the rainy, depressed county of England. How will he cope with a boy whom is just as broken as he is? (Asakiku light August and fluff. Rated teen for one bad word. )


**Petrichor**

_noun_

a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

_. . ._

Kiku let a silent sigh escape his lips, clutching the petite bag of clothes and other necessities closer to his chest. His head was turned downward, legs pulled close together and arms wrapped around the bag. Short, black ebony locks hid his brunette eyes, pale skin mostly covered by a large yellow raincoat. The young male, obviously a foreigner; did not dare look up to meet the two pairs of eyes that where currently observing him from the other side of the bus. Two older men, they where. Dressed in casual attire, though it was soaked through and their faces were scowling in a very unhappy manner. Two ladies beside the boy where talking in low tones. Despite the loud slapping cacophony of rain from the outside world, Kiku was able to hear their whispers. They seemed to be discussing an event that occurred at their church, and how a miss Natalia was having an affair. With her brother. The two females made a look of disgust and disapproval as they chattered, saying that she would be sent to hell for sure.  
"How rude." Kiku thought to himself as he idly fiddled with the hem of his rain coat sleeve.  
"Are all English people like this?" Wondered the small Asian again, turning his head around quietly and staring out the window to view the passing scenery. But all he saw was rain. Rain and trees. Of course there where a few houses here and there, but only ones that where built in a very old fashion. The sky was a dark and gloomy grey, a slight breeze pushing the falling drops here and there. The trees and grass and vegetation where all painted a dark color, as if the sun has never before blessed it with the proper coloration. It all seemed so sad, so depressing to Kiku. As if the entire town was stuck in a tragic nostalgic flashback.  
This southern England landscape was far too different from his previous busy Japanese city, where all the buildings where squished together and there was not a tree in sight for miles.  
"Goldenairy field lane." Announced the driver, his voice carrying a thick English accent as Kiku expected. The bus was stopped and the young boy stood, beginning to open his umbrella as he exited the stranger-filled vehicle.  
The bus let out a roar, one which reminded Kiku of rust and grit; and started down the road, leaving the small foreign boy alone in the rain. He hesitated, observing the rainy wood-filled area from the safety of his umbrella before pulling out two items from his bag. The first was a old, faded pocket sized copy of a Japanese-to-English dictonary. The second, a crumpled old paper which held vague directions to his final destination. Kiku opened it, holding the book on his waist and letting his umbrella lean against his shoulder.  
The paper was decorated with a simple diagram of the lane he was currently on, and arrows and lines that told him to take this turn and that side road. Each word that was printed in English had a very poor Japanese kanji translation beside it. Obviously the author was not a native Japanese speaker or writer, but Kiku was able to assume what the instructions where.  
With these items to help him progress, he stepped forward with faint courage building within him, knowing that despite his new unknown environment, everything would be alright.

Everything was most certainly not alright. During his brave adventure, he had somewhere dropped the instructions and had turned down the wrong street.  
And when he looked back to retreat, the rest of the road was gone. So now poor little Kiku, a twelve year old foreigner; was lost and hopeless in the rainy forests of southern England. What was he to do now? Cry? Scream?  
If he were to scream or cry for assistance, no one would hear him. No one could come for his rescue. Even back in Japan, even when he was not lost or alone; no one would hear him or help. Though his house was filled with a large Asian family, none of them would listen to his cries. And that was how it was for him throughout his entire childhood. Alone, and without anyone beside him. But he had adapted to such loneliness, and had learned to enjoy his own company.  
But back to his current dilemma. Kiku continued to gaze around himself, taking in the strong scent of dampness that hung within the air. He allowed his clammy hands to tightly grasp the handle of his umbrella, which was now his only source of protection or hope.  
In this type of situation any normal child would begin to do the only thing they can do; yearn. Yearn for their parents, siblings, home. Anything that would make this hopeless feeling temporarily disappear. Kiku yearned, but for what? He did not yearn for any family members, for they would offer no care or sympathy for him despite his sad situation. The same was for his home. He did not wish to return home, yet then again he did not want to be here.  
When a child has something to yearn for, a need, a goal; purpose within their life follows. But Kiku was without such things, there for he was completely, utterly, lost.  
Tears began to prick at his eyes, his nose running and that all too familiar feeling of hopelessness began to wash over him. Was he going to be lost forever? Will he die and perish here? A wide variety of doubts and pessimistic thoughts ran through his mind until-  
"Are you lost?" Whispered a soft, though uncertain voice. It's sound seemed to echo throughout the forest, that common British accent flowing with it.  
Kiku's head slowly perked up, reaching a hand up to his face and wiping his wet nose on his sleeve. Before him was a young man, appearing to be only a few years older than him. His sandy blond locks, all messy and choppy; where dry. His clothes, a chosen attire that consisted of a knitted sweater and jeans; where only slightly freckled with tiny drops of rain. But besides that, he was relatively dry, as though he had just recently stepped outside. Above him was a small umbrella, the type that are designed for only one person. This boy, this stranger, was his hope. His opertunity to be found. In a subconscious way, kiku viewed him as his guardian angel.  
"I asked you a question," The male repeated, that sweet, hopeful and gentle voice from before now seeming to snap at him. "Or are you deaf?"  
"I...um-" Kiku began awkwardly, attempting to remove that previous depressive feeling from his system. "Yes, I'm lost. I am looking for mister Arthur Kirkling." He replied, a heavy and all too obvious Japanese accent clinging to his words.  
"It's mister Kirkland." The other male snapped back, giving Kiku a irritated glare, though it softened in a matter of seconds.  
"I assume you are Kiku whom will be staying with us?"  
Kiku nodded.  
The male, now known as Arthur, sighed for a moment as he observed the Asian boy before him. He then glanced back behind himself before gesturing Kiku closer.  
"Come on now, I'll take you home." Arthur announced, suddenly turning around and taking a step forward. Kiku thought he was planning to leave without him, but the Englishman paused and gazed over his shoulder, dark emerald eyes looking at him expectantly.  
Kiku nodded quickly and followed him, admiring how the other could weave his way between the trees and switch paths with such ease. Arthur did not need a map to navigate himself back to where he started, and he appeared to have the entire forest memorized.

It wasn't long before both males where approaching a rather old house, one built in a 1890's style.  
But it wasn't too strange, since most of the houses Kiku had spotted on the bus where the same way. The porch was decorated with many pots and baskets filled with beautiful, yet soggy flowers. Arthur, without hesitation, began up the wooden steps and held the door open for his new guest. Kiku was much more hesitant then the Englishman, but entered nonetheless.  
"Don't trip, okay?" Arthur advised, a brotherly instinct showing within him as Kiku started up the slippery wooden steps.  
Once they where both inside and the door was locked, Arthur placed both their umbrellas in a small, handmade basket resting beside the door. Kiku's raincoat was tucked safe into the coat closet down the hallway.  
The shorter male gazed around the slim hallway as Arthur led him, noticing that the 1890's style he saw before was also pervasive throughout the entire house. Old paintings where hung everywhere, their dark brown frames contrasting with the bright aurulent walls which where stripped with albicant lines every few centimeters in a vittate fashion. The air was filled with the common scent of dust, but also of something Kiku could not quite place. But now was not the time for useless lethologica.  
Arthur requested that Kiku place himself on the causeuse, and he simply stared at the Englishman.  
"The settee?" Arthur offered a different synonym, though that seemed to confuse Kiku just as well. He sighed and added, "The sofa."  
The small, young Asian boy sat quietly upon the doubled-seated sofa as told, bringing his hands up and intertwined his fingers before placing them in his lap. Kiku mentally praised himself for being so polite.  
"I'm going to make some tea. But I doubt you'd like any." The blonde informed Kiku, not really aware if what Asians drank usually. To this, the younger shook his head and offered a small smile.  
"Oh uh, no I very much like tea." Kiku replied, mentally wincing at his own solecism.  
Arthur nodded, attempting to keep a straight face; though Kiku noticed a small grin pinching at the corner of his lips. And while the Asian was glancing at him, he just happened to notice how the Englishman's eyes sparkled when he smiled, even if was just a slight grin. Kiku then compared those chlorochrous hues to his own gormless dark eyes, and realized once again where he was.  
"Alright then," Arthur exhaled heavily, "It'll be done in a few minuets."  
And with that he, sparkling emerald eyes and all, disappeared into the kitchen.

It wasn't long until Arthur returned with a hoary colored tray, which was loomed with a rather fancy set of tea cups and other things Kiku had rarely ever seem.  
Resting beside the two tea cups was a small plate of...what was that? The younger stared at what looked like a pile of small, palm-sized ebony stones, coal perhaps. Kiku did not question them whatsoever, and just assumed they where part of some strange European tradition. With the familiar scent of warm green tea filling his nose, the younger took no hesitation in grabbing a teacup and slowly drinking.  
During this precious quite time, Arthur and kiku shared a good conversation which highlighted the differences between Japanese and English culture. They even got into politics without noticing it.  
"But then again, wouldn't it have-" Arthur began, but was cut off by a quiet voice emitting from a nearby doorway.  
"Arthur dear, are you talking to yourself again?" Said a elderly woman, dressed in a long, old nightgown. She was clutching the wall as she walked, and once she was in full view, Arthur stood up.  
"Ah- ah aha, o-of course not, mum." He replied awkwardly, and it was obvious to Kiku that Arthur must have a previous history of soliloquy. The blonde quickly made haste to the woman's side and gently placed a hand upon her back.  
"Now, now mum shouldn't you be sleeping?" Arthur suggested, giving her a smile, though Kiku could tell half of it was forced. The elder moved forward, a cane now within her grasp.  
"Now, now Arthur shouldn't you introduce me to our new guest? I thought I taught you manners." She responded with a calm smile growing across her very wrinkled face, her attention drawn to Kiku.  
"Um- Mum, this is Kiku Honda. Kiku, this is my grandmother." Arthur said, giving small hand guestures between the both of them. The woman took another step in advancement, and stared at Kiku.  
"An Asian boy in a Victorian style home," She chuckled, "Like a sore thumb, he is."  
Kiku's eyebrows creased in confusion, not sure if that was a compliment or insult.  
"But very handsome." She added with a wink, causing Arthur to chuckle and shake his head.  
"Don't flirt with the guest, mum. You'll scare him away." He said jokingly, causing her to laugh as he gently led her back to her room.  
"始めまして! (Hajimemashite!)" She called out before Arthur closed the door, and Kiku was slighty taken back, though he smiled slightly.

Despite their unfinished conversation and his cup of only half consumed tea, Arthur had to excuse himself for a while.  
He said that he had to return a book to the nearby library down the way. Arthur told Kiku to make sure his grandmother remain in her room, and that he would return within an hour at the most. With that said, he opened the door and left, umbrella in hand. But surprisingly, no the quickly closing doorway Kiku could see rain still pouring down mercilessly, the loud arrange of slapping and tapping filling the room then disappearing as the door was shut. And once again, Kiku was alone.  
During this free time, Kiku planned to explore throughout the house, but was stopped by the soft creaking of an opening door.  
Out stepped Arthur's grandmother, and Kiku immediately came to her side.  
"Miss Kirkland, Arthur-san told he to make sure you stayed in your roo-"  
"Don't listen to him, he's always worrying about me and whatnot. I'm fine." She replied with ease, slowly making her way over to the arm chair that rested beside the causeuse. She then gestured for the other to join her in her relaxation.  
Kiku politely sat upon the sofa, hands placed in his lap as the elder began to speak.  
"Arthur is usually such a douchebag." She suddenly commented, her tone so casual that it surprised Kiku despite him not being too familiar with the term 'douche bag'.  
"Towards others, I mean." She added, "He's usually so distant and cold to guests or strangers. He seems to have taken a likening to you."  
"You think so?" Kiku responded, slight approval in his voice as thought of Arthur accepting him ran through his mind.  
"Mhm. He really likes you. Must be because you're young."  
"...Y-you mean like a pedohile?"  
She let out a loud laugh, startling Kiku in the process.  
"Of course not!" She reassured him, still laughing.  
Kiku's leucochroic cheeks becoming slightly flustered with embarrassment.  
"I-I'm sorry, did I say something wrong? I'm still not an expert with English."  
"No no no, Hun." She said as the laughter faded, "I mean he probably likes you because you remind him of Alfred."  
Kiku tilted his head to the side in confusion.  
Miss Kirkland put a hand to her lips in false surprise.  
"Oh dear me, I wasn't supposed to mention him." She explained, but didn't seem to care much for her mistake.  
"You see, Kiku," She began, "Alfred was Arthur's younger brother. Like too peas in a pod they where. Arthur was happier then, and just loved that angel to death."  
"...Where is he?" Kiku inquired, turning all his attention to the elder's nostalgic story telling.  
"Well you see..." She paused, unsure how to start.  
"Weak hearts run in the family, and sadly Alfred had the weakest of them all. His personality wasn't weak in any way, though!" She smiled as the past memories of that golden child flooded her mind, but it melted away as tragity swarmed into her nostalgic thoughts.  
"Him and Arthur went swimming one day in the old lake a few miles away. He always called it an ocean, though it was just a little lake. Alfred really loved swimming, but it turned out to be the cause of his death. He drowned right in front of little Artie. He's never gone near the lake ever since, nor has he trusted anyone."  
Kiku was shocked, but at the same time over came with sympathy for the poor Englishman. He really had no idea Arthur was hiding such agonizing history. Perhaps he and Arthur weren't so different after all.

By the time Arthur had returned, miss Kirkland and Kiku had finished their conversation and she was brought back to bed.  
Arthur was completely unaware of their secret story tellings. The Englishman then invited Kiku to a simple wander along the path, since the rain had stopped. And who was Kiku to decline his request?  
So there they where, two young males waltzing along an path, familiar for one, unfamiliar for the other.  
"So um..." Arthur began nervously, "Did you enjoy the scones I cooked?"  
Kiku raised a brow, looking at him with a gently confused expression.  
"Scones?" He repeated.  
"Yes, the things I served with the tea."  
Kiku blinked with realization. "Oh, you mean the coal?"  
Arthur stopped and stared at the foreigner. "You thought my cooking was coal?" He snapped angerly.  
"No no no! I just...uh...a little bit." Kiku responded sheepishly.  
Despite the others shyness, this only infuriated Arthur more.  
"How rude! I mean I know they came out a little burnt..." He trailed off for a moment before giving Kiku a irritated glare. "I always knew you Asians where ungrateful." He muttered.  
"You're calling me ungrateful?" Kiku snapped back, though his words where not as forcefull as Arthur's. "You're the one who sneak off lying about going to library even though you have no book!" He argued, not really caring for his grammar mistakes at the moment. Arthur seemed to flinch at the others accusation, though he did not deny it.  
"I can do what I want! I'm practically the man of the house. In addition, I'm in my own bloody country which gives me an advantage." Arthur retaliated, making their argument sound like a game. "I bet all you want is to go home to your little Asian country, huh? Well you can't. You're stuck here."  
Arthur's words seemed to stab Kiku in the chest, and he took a step forward when the Englishman was expecting him to retreat.  
"You think I want to actually go back there?" Kiku began, his sheepishness temporarily forgotten. "You think I want to go back to where no one ever listens to me? Where I was constantly left alone day after day?" Kiku knew he would regret this useless rambling in the future, but something in his heart wanted to speak, and in return for someone to listen; just for once. After years and years of being constantly voiceless even in his own home, it's obvious his heart has been carrying this burden for quite some time.  
"Neither my parents nor my siblings ever wanted anything to do with me, and I can see it's the same here." The younger stated as he took a few steps back in retreat before beginning to run away.  
Arthur, slightly shocked by the usually very quiet Asian's outburst. He called out to the fleeing Kiku, but he refused to listen. And he kept running and running until his head of ebony hair was out of sight, and Arthur was left alone on the muddy path. The Englishman was now without a guest, and if Kiku didn't come back, his grandmother would be ever so frustrated with him. He supposed now would be a better time to search for him than later.

Kiku had chosen to rest atop a log, positioned beside a lake, one which was seemingly flooding from the previous rainfall.  
The younger male's eyes where wet from tears threatening to spill, but he refused to let them do so. Arthur, after a few minuets of useless roaming and searching, finally found his guest. With caution he approached the other from behind, just close enough to hear Kiku whispering and muttering in Japanese to himself.  
Guilt was now snaking into Arthur's chest when he noticed how the poor younger boy was almost to tears in frustration and internal conflict. He instantly regretted their previous argument and all those rude things he said. Arthur was about to speak up and apologize, but Kiku was the first to break the silence.  
"Miss Kirkland told me your brother died here." He began, surprisingly blunt about the touchy subject. Arthur gazed up towards the lake, still able to remember the splashing water and choppy waves. The horrid, though cheerful laugh echoing throughout his mind before it was muted and muffled by the crashing waves and oscillation. Arthur attempted to push the nostalgic thoughts away, but failed.  
"Yes." He answered quietly, though he did not look to Kiku and continued to gaze towards the shimmering lake. Arthur's voice seemed to carry something along it, something other than sadness or that cheeky accent. Was it owe, perhaps? No, it sounded more like regret, like guilt. As though Arthur felt solely responsible for his dead brother's irresponsibility.  
"...I'm sorry about that," Kiku commented sympathetically after a moment of silence.  
"It's nothing to fuss over," Arthur replied whilst trying to sound casual,"No big deal."  
"No big deal?" Kiku repeated, "I'm sorry for being so blunt now, and before; but he was your brother. H-how can you simply throw such things to the side?"  
Arthur then took a seat beside the Asian, not caring for the muddy ground that soiled his shoes or the crummy log that could possibly be dirtying his pants.  
"I...I don't know, honestly." He answered, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration.  
"I try to forget him," Arthur began,"I try to pretend that he never existed actually. Because whenever I think of him I just...I feel guilty."  
"But there was not much you could do, right? It wasn't really your fault."  
"I know, I know, but..." He trailed off for a moment. "I just need a second chance. To prove that I can be a better brother."  
Kiku did not reply for a moment, both of them simply stared out to the lake, watching as the water rippled and ripped from the gentle afternoon breeze.  
"I'm sure Alfred was grateful. Having you as a brother, I mean."  
Silence followed again as Arthur processed Kiku's words, and he then turned to glance at the dark haired boy.  
"What about you?" He inquired, though not in a pushy tone. "What about your siblings?"  
"I wouldn't really call them siblings." Kiku responded, being all too gentle with the siblings whom he hated. "They're never really there for me. Always tease me, and not even in the playful way siblings are supposed to." Kiku was now gazing downwards at his own hands, examining them. "Though they are related to me by blood, I still do not count them as family. I do not need one."  
"What are you saying? Everyone needs a family." Arthur responded, realizing now that they where both without something. And then he paused, taking in the damp scenery of the forest and the soothing whispers of the lake. Just two young boys they where. Both plagued by something they could never have, but at the same time similar due to the pain they received from it. Kiku, from a far away land, without a rightful family, only longing to be accepted. While Arthur, stuck in a tragic playback of his nostalgic past, only wanted a brother with whom he could try again.  
Perhaps it was fate whom sent Kiku here, the seemingly perfect fit to Arthur's own delimma. The Englishman then gazed over towards the Asian beside him, and now it was Kiku's turn to be seen as a fate-sealing, guardian angel.  
"You know, Kiku," Arthur began, "We may not be related by blood, but you are always welcome in our family. It's not a perfect family, but it is one."  
Kiku slowly blinked, turning his head to stare at Arthur. "You mean it?"  
"Of course!" Arthur replied, a smile forming over his lips. "We can be brothers."  
And then, in that very forest, two hopeless, completely lost souls where found. Without a need, a goal, something to year for; they found their hope within each other. Despite their dramatic differences in background and race, they now found a common ground on which they where joined together.  
Kiku then proposed that they make a promise, a pact; to forever stay as brothers despite whatever might emerge along their path. Arthur agreed, and they both joined pinkies in a traditional pinky-promise. The Englishman and Asian boy then stood and slowly made their way down the path back home, sharing a happy conversation as they neared the house.  
The rain was momentarily absent, the previous cacophony of pitters and patters seemingly fading from both boy's pasts as a new future was opened for them, and their agonizing memories where forgotten in an instant as the door to the small, 1890's home was closed.

* * *

_**Ooc; **__a 'short story' written by me in English class and we only had around a day to write it. Also, I'm so happy because we wrote it on our IPads and everyone else's stories where almost four pages at most !_

_I felt so proud of myself when my English teacher called me out during class and bragged for me that my story was ten pages. !_

_I apologize for my inactivity and procrastination, and also the many grammar mistakes in this story- but I am really proud of this one ! _

_ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THE KIND REVIEWER WHOM INFORMED ME OF MY MISTAKE !_


End file.
